A Moment That Changed Me: Our Train Crashed – and then I Heard a Child Weeping.

That instant I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to grow older.